


For the Right Price

by Clockwork



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: Blackmail, Gen, Hypnotism, Victorian, alternative universe, spiritualist movement, victorian au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-19 23:50:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16544702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clockwork/pseuds/Clockwork
Summary: Victorian AU replaying the opening scenes of NYSM. In this McKinney is a spiritualist just come to America and fleecing the rich and unethical.





	For the Right Price

**Author's Note:**

  * For [knightings](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=knightings).



The room was dark, barely lit by white candles at the four corners of the room. Above the chandelier could hold up to two dozen more candles, but only four of them were lit. One for each of the elements, he had said during the meeting a week earlier when arrangements were made for the event that night.

All of the windows were shut tightly, the house had been checked by all to prove there was no one else there but the four women around the table, two valets ordered to stand at the North and South ends of the room, and Merritt McKinney. 

Known the world over as a spiritualist and channeler of spirits, Merritt was said to have only recently come to America to offer his services to those he deemed “open and mindful”, having insinuated to the press from the dock before boarding a boat to America that the English were just too narrow minded and arrogant to accept the help of the spirit world that he offered a voice to. That a braggish and bold Irishman might offer such a declaration to those that would publish each and every salacious word in black and white had only made his sudden and unannounced departure from English shores for America.

Once arriving in New York, McKinney quickly made a splash with the local spiritualist scene. He offered public seances wherein it wasn’t he the medium that channeled the spirits from beyond but rather he acted as a conduit to draw spirits down from the ether and channel them through the host themselves. It was something that none of them had ever seen, marveling at the things revealed to them by their lost loved ones, and spending days and weeks talking about the mysticism that they themselves had experienced rather than merely seeing another do it.

For this night, Merritt could not have asked for things to be better than they were. A storm raging overhead above a Beacon Hill manor with high peaks, dark windows, and enough lace and porcelain lining the room that with a single kick of any of the sidetables he could send so much money in knickknacks toppling to the floor. 

Not that he has that planned for this event. Oh no, this one will be going another direction entirely. Broken items are a reminder to the living that their loved ones visited, the spry and rather charming widow of only twenty one years, who had just lost her husband of four months to a heart attack. That he was nearly sixty years old with four dead wives and sixteen kids might well explain that heart issue. What wasn’t explained was where his money and jewels had gone. 

The day after his death, as his young bride had been tossing his things before the body was ever in the ground, she’d learned that much was missing from his office and his private supplies. One day she had been a rich and crying young woman, the next day she had been tearing apart the estate with her bare hands. Yet, nothing. Not a sign of documents or money. His solicitor knew nothing. The staff were clueless. And then she’d struck on the idea of calling in Merritt to summon forth her husband and find out the truth. 

Now they sat around the table, hands clasped as the flicker of candlelight cast them all into shadows. The rush of the storm water against the roof left them surrounded by the perpetual sound of static, not that Merritt’s voice could not be heard clearly through the room.

“I call upon the spirit of the Great Ones, of all the Gods and Men that have gone before. I call on those beyond the ether to bring forth spirit of Michel Fuller. Your wife seeks you out, Michael. Come forward and speak with her, face what you have done and speak.”

There was nothing, nothing but silence. 

“I see this one is going to be difficult,” he murmured as if thinking to himself, though it was cast loudly enough for all of them. Sitting there in his suit with wide ascot and bowler hat, he leaned in closer, as if trying to draw the ladies around him in on it. “Brace yourselves, my dears. This may get dangerous.”

Straightening in his chair, Merritt held tighter to the hands of the women on either side of him. Not wanting to cause them pain, but knowing that securing that connection would help with what was to come. Canting his head back, his hat managing to stay in place despite the angle of his head. Throat straining as he spoke, intoning into the beyond once more. 

From the corner of his eye, Merritt saw the widow shifts, straightening herself as her jaw worked. She looked determined and intense, but not the least bit upset or eager to hear from her dead husband. Not that he was at all surprised, though she would be before the night was through. 

“We summon the spirit, the dead and gone spirit, of Michael Fuller to come forth to us. Step through the veil. I beseech thee, Uriel, to bring him forth that his truth be told.”

Even as the name of the angel passed his lips, one of the valets in the room, Mr Fuller’s personal servant, shrieked. The sound was wild, panicked, and yet the man stood ramrod straight and still just over Merritt’s left shoulder. His hands lay at his hands, his eyes open but seemingly unseeing, barely blinking.

The women around Merritt shrieked and gasped, the sounds of skirts rustling and soft soled shoes rubbing against the wood of the floor. His hands tightened on those near him. “Hold, Ladies. Do not move. Do not break circle. We will lose him if the circle is broken. Settle now.”

And they did. Tension were high, and even over the din of the storm above, Merritt could still hear their breaths, ragged and rough and likely hurting with the tight bodices they were. Professing freedom from corsets, but putting those buttons to the test in an effort to stay stylish, but free. 

“Everyone knows the truth. Everyone is talking about it,” the valet babbled, voice a bit hoarse, almost as if they were fighting not to say the words. Or, more importantly, fighting whoever it was trying to make them say the words. “Janet. It’s all about Janet. She knew. Don’t let her pretend she didn’t. Barren, cold bi…”

“ENOUGH!”

Two days earlier Merritt had met with the newest Mrs Fuller to go over the event, talk about what would be needed, and for Merritt to clear things up with her. Two days earlier she had been a shy and quiet widow, sobbing into her handkerchief and weeping about how much she would suffer now after Michael had destroyed her life leaving her poor and destitute. 

Now she was red faced and shrill as she jerked her hand from McKinney’s, rising to her full, though not very domineering, height of barely an inch or two more than five foot. 

“You need to sit down,” Merritt said, his voice but soft and dominant at the same time as he waved the others back into their seats. The other three women settled. The mistress of the house did not.

“It’s all about Janet, you know. Janet that was here after the last missus died, Janet that…”

“Isn’t your sister’s name Janet?”

“I said, shut up! Right now, Michael! You shut up right now!”

It all happened in a blur. The other ladies suddenly whispering about Janet, and Alma Fuller moved instantly to where the valet stood, striking him hard across the face with one gloved hand. The man’s knees buckled, and still he went on and on about Janet and she knew.

“I drew the veil before we all pay,” Merritt called, rising from his chair. “I beseech you. Begone.”

As he said the words the valet fell silent in an instant, dropping to their knees with a bright red mark on their cheek.

“You,” Alma snarled, pointing at McKinney. “Into the other room. NOW!”

Despite not wanting to turn his back on her, Merritt walked out of the parlour and into the hallway. She pushed past him, moving into the parlour across the hall, and he followed, drawing the doors closed behind them.

“How did you know?”

“Pardon me, Mrs Fuller?” He asked it softly, reaching up to pull his hat from his head, revealing his bald scalp. “I don’t know what…”

“Cut the crap,” she hissed, shaking her head. “How did you know?”

“I know nothing,” he said, bowing his head for a moment. “And as of right now, no one in that room knows anything more than the ramblings of someone caught up with spirits. Tricky creatures, though I’m sure if we took a seat back at the table and gave them a few more minutes, everything would become clear and an answer might be found as to what was being spoken, and how your husband that might not have legally been your husband gave your money to his mistress and she caused his death before running herself. Isn’t that what happened to your sister? She ran with his money?”

She stared at him for the longest time, considering her options. “What would it take to make that happen?”

“Well… When we met we discussed my usual fee, and that you weren’t capable of paying it because of the missing funds…”

“And that’s all?”

“Double that, and that’s all,” he said, smiling. “And a glowing review to all you moneyed friends who could use my services as well.” Putting his hat back on his head, he took a step closer. “Do we have a deal?”

“You’re a scoundrel!”

“And a thief,” he reminded her, sticking out his hand. “But a very smart one. Smarter than you.”

Smart enough to have stayed after they met a few days earlier to speak with the staff. To learn of their belief that Mrs Fuller’s sister hadn’t run off before their marriage, and to speak of how she and the Mister had been so close. Closer than friends since his third wife’s death. He knew he might have been wrong about the possible elopement, but it had been worth the chance. And paid off admirably.

A little hypnosis and a few trigger words can go a long way in convincing the human mind to speak of what it thought it was keeping secret. Both in private, as well as in a candlelit room in front of your mistress and her friends.

“Well?”

She took his hand, frowning so darkly and her mouth pinched but she nodded. “Deal. You’ll have your money tomorrow.”

“I’ll have it before I leave tonight, and if you want them to remember none of this, triple it.”

She fell quiet for a long time, just staring at him, her hand in his. “You can do that?”

“For you, Mrs Fuller, anything,” he said, moving to bow over her hand, kissing the back of it. “For the right price.”


End file.
